To the North

To the north are the canefields, seas of waving green

And then the fires come, and burn the water

It's a sight to be seenThe men in slouch hats reap the harvest

Brown sticks they place in cagesAnd then the trains hiss, they carry bounty

From the furnace to the millStick men silhouettes bend against the flame,

Shout above the crackle crunch.